


Ananke

by Cesare_Blanc



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Dominance, Drama & Romance, F/F, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Slow Burn, Submission
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 14:59:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8718298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cesare_Blanc/pseuds/Cesare_Blanc
Summary: Hermione Granger, most young and most conscientious Minister for Magic, takes it upon herself to wrestle the Wizarding Word away from yet another brewing conflict and dispel the curse on one cursed child. But when that entails trying to spare Delphini Azakban and teach her the true ways of magic, she slowly finds herself in a trap of her own making. And in time, it becomes unclear whether Delphini is the one in her custody, or is Hermione who's in her clutches…[F/F] [Dominance/Submission/Powerplay] [Action/Adventure] [Slow Burn]Updates on Thursday.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Foreword
> 
>  
> 
> Once upon a time, there was a crackship. It wasn't a particularly clever crackship, and it was mostly fueled by the unsavoury penchant fandoms tend to have to put characters together based upon their enmities and unhealthy relationship rather than staying true to characterization; but then again, fandoms are known to shine also due to things of such nature. That pairing was Hermione/Bellatrix, known in the circles as Bellamione, and it was among the first pairings that brought me, a long long time ago, back when dinosaurs ruled the Earth, into the muddy and murky and marvelous world of fanfiction. It's but a tiny crackship in a world full of them, but, if executed well, I still feel like it could be among the most interesting relationship in the HP world. Problem was, for it to happen you had to saddle a (quite) young Hermione with the burden of falling in love with a grown, abusive woman. Not the healthiest of prospects. In alternative, bend narrative (often thanks to time-turner abuse) to accommodate for the presence of Bellatrix in the established storyline. I tend to not be a fan of either things.
> 
> Then The Cursed Child happened.
> 
> And as much as some of us would like to negate as much, it is canon and we have to deal with it. The story had many a plot hole and it reeked of the narrative-bending approach fanfiction is known to use. Yet, it was enjoyable, and while Harry to catch many a Stupid Ball, it gave us an enticing story about family and inheritance.
> 
> It also gave us Delphini.
> 
> Cursed Child is a proper appellative when speaking of Delphini, mostly in a narrative sense. If I am not mistaken, the fandom reaction to her presence has been, to put it mildly… cold. There's little to no fanart of her out there, and The Cursed Child has been out for months at the time of this foreword. And we're talking about (after maybe the Bible), the single largest literature fandom in history. It's easy to understand why: with her white (pardon, silver) and blue hair, Delphini bears some of the most common stigmata of the dreaded Mary Sue. She's also the forgotten child of a beloved series' Big Bad and his most trusted (and charismatic) lieutenant. She displays an impressive range of powers and even magic that's been only hinted at, such as the use of (Merlin's beard!) wandless magic.
> 
> And yet.
> 
> And yet, for all of that, Delphini is a compelling character. She's clever. She's ruthless. We are drawn to characters with a strong will, and she's adamant in her quest, to the point she can't even imagine life without receiving praise from her (luckily) deceased father. That's powerful. That's interesting. If we are to look past the obvious logical and narrative conundrum or Voldemort having a child, if we accept the curse her character has put on the fandom (as we, as mature and intelligent fans – because we are that, aren't we? - ought to do), then we might even discover a character with untold potential. Potential for what?
> 
> In this story, (eventual) hot lesbian smut, fighting against one's destiny, and self-discovery. Mostly. And also the perfect pivotal propellant to kickstart Hermione on the same path of self-discovery. Because I, for one, feel that Delphini and Hermione are, as the vulgata says, polar opposites. And opposites not only attract, but they tend to make a mighty crash when they fall upon each other. And aren't we all here for that? For that hopeless flight of the moth around the candle?
> 
> All we have to understand, is who's the moth and who's the candle.
> 
> As always, please remember to read, share and review. It's the only way I can know how you enjoyed this.  
> Thank you in advance.

 

**Cesare Blanc's**

**ANANKE**

 

_Nemo fit fato nocens._

Seneca

 

 

**I**

 

**Level Ten: Containment**

 

 

 

This was so wrong. So wrong. It was wrong to allow Delphini’s warm fingers upon her neck. Hermione knew as much. But her head swam in a cloud of dizziness, and the world seemed to close down against her body; everything that mattered was her broken breaths, shuddering with… with… with something she didn't want to name, and the searing touch of Delpini's hand as it played – for she was playing, _toying_ with her – around her shirt's collar, now touching the rim, now scratching the skin. Delphini' scent was relief, sweat, and something murkier and smoother beneath, something Hermione was deathly afraid to recognize.

“Minister,” Delphini whispered to her ear, and her breath was poison and her tone had Hermione clasp her powerless fists, clutched against a wand that was as useless as a stick. “Is something wrong?”

There was mockery in the tone. Were it simple cold mirth, Hermione would have known how to respond. She used to get that all day working at the Ministry. Were it mere disdain, she would have known how to ignore it. She used to get doses of that from the _Daily's Prophet_. But, no, the girl's voice was curious, and enticing, and it buzzed with a shaking desire.

Hermione moved her eyes from Delphini's lips up towards her eyes. To tell her to stop. To tell her to let go of her, to demand to be left alone. For the girl – because that's what she was, a girl, a simple girl, and she… she was Hermione Granger, once Minister for Magic, she had duties and experience and knowledge an-

It was a mistake.

The girl's dark eyes drew her in, and Hermione felt as if she had no more floor beneath her feet; she stumbled, and stumbling she fell forward, right into Delphini's arms, warm against her shoulders. Now it was her mouth that was close to _her_ ear, and it was just there, and it would have been so good to _lick it_ …

No.

No.

Hermione blinked and tried to take a step back, but it was already too late. Delphini tucked her around her neck, and it's as if her fingers were fiery whips. She traced the contour of her gulps; her fingers were all there is to the world, all Hermione felt. She tried to conjure in her mind Ron, her husband, Rose, her daughter, anything, anything to remind her of who she was, who she once used to be, but she was so tired, her mind could only think of black lips and black eyes and breaths and moans and treacherous fingers and smiles and teeth and damp and dark and warm things. A fire beckoned from inside her body split her in two.

“My offer still stands, _Minister_ ,” Delphini said. Hermione's gaze shifted from those eyes and onto those black-painted lips, drawn in a grin. So cold. So warm. So mocking. So wet. So soft. So kissable. It's as if she was fighting some kind of unknown gravity, and against all hope and will, Hermione Granger, Minister for Magic, best student of her time, vanquisher of the Wizarding War, lovingly mother and wife, was drawn closer and closer to Delphini's smiling lips. Her chances for salvation lived in the space between their mouths, and that space was getting smaller and smaller, closer and closer, enough to allow maybe a finger through.

Her lips trembled on the edge of madness.

 

-

 

 

Eleven months before Hermione Granger, most young and most kind Minister for Magic, found herself in a closet, her clothes damp from sweat and desire

, about to kiss the daughter of the late Tom Riddle, she was having one of the worst weeks in her life. Nothing compared to what she would experience in a few months' time, but when she exited the elevator to the last level in the Ministry for Magic, she felt like she was scraping at the bottom.

“Level Ten: _Containment_ ,” chirped the Welcoming Witch's voice from around her.

Hermione stopped and rubbed her eyes, turning to look at herself in the shiny surface of the elevator. Even from her unclear reflection, she saw the dark bags under her eyes, present from the craziest week since Tom Riddle's defeat all those years ago. It was disappointing, in a way. No matter how many times they defeated him, no matter how many times she, and Ron, and Harry lost friends and allies to stop him, he would come back to taunt the wizarding world. Anger welled up from Hermione's chest, and she took three long breaths to calm down; exhaling from the nose, three times, just like McGonagall taught her. This was her duty. She could do this.

The inside of her left arm itched. It wasn't something that had bothered her these last few decades, and most of times she managed to just ignore it. See a thing too many times, and it shifts into the background. She was sure there was an explanation to that coping mechanism; she ought to check it up. Understanding, was, after all, the first step towards mastering. She stopped herself from scratching the inside of her arm. It was nothing.

Hermione turned and straightened her dark brown suit; she took great care in projecting an aura of calm efficiency, even more so after the last few days. She even started wearing heels, and the staccato from her steps recoiled from the dark walls of Level Ten as she approached the containment station down the short hallway.

“Minister,” the containment officer saluted her.

“Robert,” Hermione answered with a nod.

“Are you here to talk with the captive?”

“I'll try and put some sense into her.”

Robert Dawlish, containment officer, first class Auror, snickered at her optimism. She considered him a good man, eager to step away from his father less-than-spotless record, but he was hardly a forgiving one. Then again, she appointed him to the case for his skills and loyalty, not for his good heart.

“Good luck, Minister.”

“Most kind, Robert.”

She gently handed him her wand, in an ironic foreshadowing of things to come. Then she stepped past him, turned left on a corner and past two more Aurors, sitting on chairs, wands pointed towards the end of the hallway. They didn't nod as she walked, not even saluted her; it mattered little, better they be focused on the captive. And at the end of the corridor, sitting on a polished black floor, beneath the glare of lamps, there was the source of all her problems.

Well, most her problems.

Hermione walked to the point she could lift a hand and touch the one-way mirror that looked on the dark abyss beyond. No light seemed to pierce it, no sound could be transmitted through is the Ministry did not wish so. Magical protections surrounded the glass; no amount of cursing, no single wizard or witch would ever be able to pierce through the curtain. And yet, Hermione was uneasy, pinpricks running around her skin. Because beyond the darkness, in a cube floating in the darkness, on the black stone that reflected her clothes, striped white and grey just as she would be in Azkaban, the daughter of the wizard who used to be called Lord Voldemort looked directly onto her.

Well, it was just a coincidence.

She couldn't truly see across the one-way mirror, could she?

They had chained her. Surrounded her with enough wards to handle a dragon.

Why didn’t she feel it was enough?

Delphini's black eyes moved on to another place in her cell, and Hermione felt marginally better. Hermione's eyes fell upon Delphini's face. Back during their duel, she couldn't focus on her features for more than a moment, but now, in the livid light that so unrelenting fell upon her, she spotted a few curious traits. She had the high, sharp cheekbones that ran in the Black family, and possessed the stony, cold beauty expected from its female branch. And yet.

And yet. Hermione had hardly ever seen a picture of young Tom Riddle, before he corrupted his shape beyond sanity and recognizing, before he mutilated himself. But she thought she would recognize him as her father. Delphini's nose was straight and slim, ending in a sharp point. Her lips so thin they were blade-like, even though that might have been a trait inherited from her mother. She seemed to float even laying down on the floor, possessing some sort of unearthly grace. A disturbing grace, like a painting trying too hard to look perfect, a shade of something _else_ , something extraneous.

Her head, devoid of hair, might have played a part in that. Hermione had been mildly surprised when they had discovered she had been wearing a wig. Harry, thought, said it made perfect sense. Even Tom Riddle, upon discovering he was magical, had approached the notion with little fear and much entitlement. It made him _special_. Silver and blue hair must have played the same role, also helping her disguise. They had their fair amount of bald wizards, but in all her time Hermione had never seen a bald witch outside of a hospital. Yet one more trait that pushed her apart from the crowd.

“I wish to speak to her,” Hermione said to the Aurors behind her.

A noise like shrieking glass, and part of the enchantments upon the mirror were lifted. Delphini blinked, then her eyes focused upon Hermione. So black, so clear.

“Good evening, Delphini,” Hermione greeted her. Goodness, she must sound a lot like Dumbledore.

“Is it evening yet?” Her voice croaked. Maybe it was because it was travelling through magic medium before it reached her ears, maybe it was because spending three days all alone in a cell tended to not do wonders for your vocal chords.

“Evening of the third day.” Hermione's left arm itched even more now. She didn't scratch it, but she crossed her arms, trying to dispel the feeling with friction. “Your trial is tomorrow.”

Delphini lowered her eyes a fraction, but it was just a moment. Her gaze came back in full force.

“I believe you didn't come here to lecture me on my appointments list, did you? _Minister_.”

It sounded like an insult from her mouth. Still, better than _mudblood_.

“You would be correct, Delphini. I'm here to ask something of you.”

Delphini's lips opened in a sneer. Unlike her mother, her teeth were fine. Would they still be in a few years? Hermione blinked. She should stop comparing her to her parents. She was trying to _talk_ to her. Not her place to judge.

“Not much I can give after all you took. Can I?”

“You can give us much, Delphini. In fact, I believe you can give us a lot more than you believe. Do you know what the Wizengamot is?”

Delphini licked her lips, then nodded. Another shadow of doubt passed over her face.

“My mother met with it once, I believe. Not that it was very kind.”

“Your mother was, let's say, a special case.” Hermione shifted. Did Harry felt like this when Voldemort tried to connect with him, back in the days? It was like she cradling an ant's nest in her left arm. “She did little to win the Wizengamot's trust. You could take a different approach.”

Delphini was silent for a few moments. Hermione knitted her gaze with hers, and their eyes duelled for dominance. She felt like she was falling in two deep wells, and it seemed as if her feet weren't anchored to the safe, solid black stone floor of Level Ten, but she was in a freefall. Something seized her throat. No. No. She steeled against the incoming tide.

Delphini lowered her gaze.

“How so?”

“The Wizengamot is stern, but tends” Hermione tilted her head, memories of a certain fifth-year trial scratching away at her confidence, “ _tends_ to be fair. In the last years we at the Ministry tried to make our policies more trusting, more open. If you were to approach them with an open heart, I'm sure they would take it into consideration.”

“Are you asking me to _lie_? Minister.” Delphini's voice was low, almost a whisper, and yet it seemed to cut deeper for that.

“Why would you think anything like that, Delphini?”

That smile. Delphini grinned, and skin seemed to retract, shy away from her mouth as a receding shoreline, as a flower unfurling. No, that wasn't a smile. It was a baring of teeth.

“You are asking me to renounce my heritage. You are asking me to renounce my father.”

“Nothing of the sort. I was confident you came to accept that the late Tom Riddle is no longer, thankfully, with us?”

Chains rattled. A vibration seemed to pass through the mirror, and Hermione heard the Aurors behind her stand at attention.

“His name is _Voldemort_. You will address him as such, Minister.”

Hermione raised a hand. The Aurors, who had been approaching, stopped.

“Leave us alone.”

Dawlish, who had approached them, shook his head.

“Minister, your protection is-”

“Robert Dawlish,” Hermione said, in what she hoped was a passing imitation of the look McGonagall used to give students out of beds, “I'm confident you would not put your own concern over a direct order.”

“Minister.”

“I hate repeating myself, Robert.”

Dawlish looked past her, at the cage, then sighed and took a step behind.

“We'll wait for you behind the corner. At least take your wand back, Minister.”

Hermione looked at her wand. It was tempting, to protect herself. To be assured.

“No, thank you, Robert, I would very much prefer for you to keep it safe. After all,” and she turned to regard Delphini, who was still shaking in her chains, “I'm confident our guest will not try to harm a disarmed woman?”

She was risking it, now. Cornelius Fudge would have hidden himself behind a wall of Aurors. Better yet, he wouldn't even _stay_ in the Ministry. Rufus Scrimgeour would have dealt with the prisoner in a stern, powerfully-looking manner, imposing, his arms behind his back, chest raised. Kingsley Shacklebolt would have humbled her through diplomacy and a show of strength.

What would Dumbledore do?

“Dismissed, Robert,” she said with a gesture of her hand.

She stopped talking until she heard the three Aurors leave the room. Hermione turned to look at Delphini, who was now standing as tall and as near the edge of her cell as she could. Hermione bit her lip for a moment, then chastised herself for the show of weakness. Dumbledore would have done the same. Saw good in every person. It paid out in the end.

“I am afraid you are in no position to dictate the way I address him, Delphini.”

“You could try and show some _respect_ , Minister. Couldn't you?”

Hermione scowled. The first flickering tongues of anger now lapping at her chest. Respect? _Respect_?

“The man you sought never even existed, Delphini. The man you idolize was never even capable of love, and it would prove instrumental in his defeat. I advise you to let go of this absurd notion befor-”

“And yet I'm here, am I not?”

It was a whisper, and Delphini talked more to herself than to her, yet Hermione stopped.

Silence fell like a blanket on the two of them. It stayed for a while.

“I am only asking you to comply, Delphini.”

She said nothing, retracting from the edge and sitting down again.

“If I do this,” Delphini said after a while, “if I play by your rules and I'm the Minister's good plaything, what will you do?”

Hermione took in another long breath. Back in control.

“My promise, Delphini, is to do anything I can to not put you in Azkaban.”

A flicker of hope in her eyes.

“Not the Dementors, then?”

“There haven't been Dementors in Azkaban for almost twenty years.”

It was Delphini's turn now to look surprised. She shook her head.

“No. You lie. Uncle told me that place was full of them.”

“It was at the time. After...” Hermione bit her tongue. Better not to enrage her once again. “… your father's time, the Ministry substituted them with Aurors.”

Delphini shook her head again.

“No. It's a lie. It's a lie! Uncle said he only managed to escape thanks to his devotion to father! Uncle said...”

“As with a great many other things, whatever mister Lestrange…” was it Rodolphus Lestrange? The man seemed to have lied also on the details of his relationship with Bellatrix. Why? “… said to you might have been a grain of truth drowned in a tall glass of lies, Delphini. Mister Lestrange was only released after he provided us with the whereabouts of other, former, Death Eaters. In fact, it was thanks to his insight we managed to find Nott, not that long ago.”

Delphini looked lost now. Hermione left her a few moments to recover, but not too many. Better to push her now.

“Not all lies, though. The prophecy was true.”

“I believe that your own actions proved prophecies can only be trusted up to a point.”

Delphini scuttled away from the cage's edge. She looked so small now, and frail, with her legs up towards her chest and the signs of defeat etched on her face.

“Tell me what you want and then leave. Minister.”

Hermione smiled inside herself. Maybe she could reach to her. Maybe she could still save this.

“I wish for you to approach the Wizengamot with a clear idea of what your position is. You killed young Bowker in cold blood, a young wizard, underage, disarmed. There's few worst crimes with which you could face the Wizengamot.”

Delphini lifted her eyes. Was that regret in her eyes? Was that…

“He was in the way.”

Hermione sighed.

“That's precisely what I mean. His family will be at the hearing. How do you think that would affect your case? You walk a very thin line, Delphini.”

“Why should I care? If there's no more Dementors in Azkaban...”

“Azkaban is still as unpleasant as we can make it.”

“Then just send me there! I have nothing more to do!”

“Is that true?”

Delphini snarled.

“Then what would you have me to do, Minister? Walk in line with all your other puppets, kissing Potter's boots and having parties? Or did you take a liking to me?” Delphini licked her lips, and Hermione saw a flash of her mother in that gesture. Her left arm twitched. “Do you wish for a _pet_?”

Something coiled around Hermione's stomach. The foreign sensation of something never truly considered, a notion so out there that she had to stretch her mind to accommodate it. She blinked. Blinked again.

“That's ridiculous.”

Delphini' sneer widened. She passed her finger on her lips.

“Is that so? I remember it was you who suggested I'd go Azkaban.”

“I approached the idea while in the middle of a battle. As soon as I let my mind cool, I realized it would not be feasible. It would be a waste, in fact.”

“A waste? Minister.”

The way she kept on saying her title, like it was a separate part of her. It made her fingers want to curl in a ball. Hermione steeled herself once again. She had to stay true to the script. She rehearsed this. And apart from that… question Delphini asked, it was going not too bad. _A pet_. How _twisted_ this girl was?

“My husband, Ron Weasley, used to have two twin brothers.” Delphini gave in a brief nod. Hermione pushed down a small jolt of surprise. How could she…? _I read about you, Harry Potter_ , came unbidden to her mind. Of course. Still, she had to stick to her script. “He was killed during the battle at Hogwarts, together with many other bright, young wizards. On, I gave to say, both sizes. People who might have come to know peace and happiness met an untimely end. I believe we ca-”

“Is that what you tell yourself?”

Hermione blinked. Scowled, against her will.

“I beg your pardon?”

Delphini stood straight again. As if she could have the upper hand. As if Hermione was the one trapped.

“You live a cosy life, Minister. Top of your game. Top of the wizarding world. Isn't it nice, to look down on all of us? Don't you think at least a few of those who died could have been Ministers as well? How many _competitors_ did you lose thanks to my father's cleansing?”

Hermione balled her fists. Her left arm had tongues of fire dancing to the sound of _mudblood_ , _mudblood_. It wasn't important.

“You speak not of what you know not, child.”

There. It felt good to mock her, didn't it? And if the smile Delphini gave her then meant anything, it was she had lost her cold, calculating mask. The girl managed to go under her skin. Calm. Breathe. Not good. She was better than this.

Fuck the script.

“The way I see it, Minister, you pushed your way to the top on a ladder of bones.”

 _Mudblood, mudblood, mudblood_.

Or was it her own blood pumping in her ears?

 _Mudblood_.

She took a step towards her, toward the edge. Her chains rattled as if moved by wind. Her cage wobbled in the darkness, in the nothingness. Hermione, against her better judgement, took a step back.

“The way I see it, Minister for Magic is just a nicer way of saying _Augury_.”

Hermione stepped forward.

“The way a twisted child like you sees it. For sure. We're not the same.”

“We are, indeed,” and Delphini was standing, her chains impossibly straight, her black eyes two pricks of black light that darkened the edges of her vision, “I just choose to acknowledge the obstacles on my way.”

 _Crucio her._ Fuck being the better woman, fuck it trying to keep this mask up. Ask Robert for her wand, step inside and-

Delphini' smile turned devious. She licked her lips once again.

“Oh, please don't get angry with me. I can be a _good_ pet for you. Minister.”

Hermione took once again a step back. She was…

She balled her fists.

“I have a daughter. And a son. I won't have them subjected to the same horrors I lived through, miss Delphini.”

“Will they be happy to know their mother has a new pet?”

“This is your last chance for something better than losing everything, miss Delphini. By the time you're old and grey, you will have forgotten what the sun looks like. I am the only one willing to stand up for you in that court.”

Delphini stopped smiling. She blinked, relaxed her posture.

“How so?”

And then, the script saved her. This was the most important part. She had rehearsed so many times she had been afraid Ron might hear it in her sleep.

“I like to think of myself as a rational person, miss Delphini. I never believed in prophecies, and I walked in the shards of them, in this very Ministry, many years before.” Once again, Delphini gave in a brief nod. How much did this girl _know_? “You proved once again that prophecies hold no real value. I ask of you to step out of your path towards self-destruction and take a different turn.”

“In English, please? Minister.”

“You never received a formal education. In my eyes, that's a felony. You will show your regret to the Wizengamot. You will show you understood the worst of your ways and ask for a _purposeful_ , merciful program of punishment. Different from Azkaban. Community service. Turning your considerable talents to the good of the wizarding world.”

“For the _greater_ good, Minister?”

Damn.

“For good. There's no lesser of greater in it.”

Delphini stood silent for a long time. Hermione tried to push her. Come on. Come on. No matter how… unruly the girl was, she could be bent. She would avert a third wizarding war. No new Dark Lord, no pivot for evil wizards to latch on. No more deaths. No more suffering.

“So, I believe you'll take it upon yourself to… correct me? Minister?”

The same alluring smile. But not this time. Oh, no this time she had a fine retort.

Hermione laughed.

“Oh, no, miss Delphini, I am afraid my office takes up most of my time. But I know a fair number of great teachers, some of them from Hogwarts itself, who would be happy to give you the education you bereft.”

Delphini's face fell, and it was such a _delight_ to see she could pierce _her_ armour.

Maybe too much of a delight. She better reign herself in.

“I don't think I want to be a lackey.”

“You won't be. You will just be given the instruments to look for a path your own way. And maybe, in time, mend what you broke.”

“I think Azkaban might be the better choice. Less tiring for me.”

Hermione shook her head. Time for her trump card.

“What if I offered you another deal, then?”

“Oh, I _can_ be a good pet.”

“Please stop.”

“Is this an order? _Mi-ni-ster_?” Delphini fluttered her eyelids and pouted.

Better ignore her.

“You claimed you wanted to see your father.”

That got her interest. All traces of mockery erased from her face as if Hermione cleaned a blackboard from marks.

“I may have.”

“What if I told you there's a way for you to see him?”

“Meet him?”

“ _See_ him. I am afraid there's no magic that can raise the dead.”

And now she was quoting Dumbledore verbatim. Next thing she’d knew, she'd sprout a beard.

“How?”

“Secrecy is part of the deal. I will tell you. If you agree.”

Delphini licked her lips, in apprehension now – she didn't feel the same jolt, definitely – thinking, thinking. Hermione looked at her, as if her eyes were hands and she could push, just _push_ the girl the right way…

“Explain your terms.”

Hermione smiled. A nice, reassuring smile. She had mastered that one.

“You will tell the Wizengamot you are ashamed of what you did.”

A flash of ire passed through her eyes.

“The _killing_ , miss Delphini. I can pass upon many things, but that I cannot. I must not.”

“Do not ask me as much, then, in regarding to Potter.”

“Now you are just lying to yourself, miss Delphini. Look me in the eyes and tell me you never felt any regret at your deeds.”

Delphini's black wells met her dead-on, once again. Drowning and drowning she went, looking for a glimpse of light in the darkness. She saw a crease form in her gaze, a doubt, a ripple of regret. Was it?

Then Delphini smiled. That lecherous smile.

“You have such pretty eyes. Minister.”

Hermione shook her head.

“I trust you will understand the heaviness of your actions. Now. If. And I must stress the if. _If_ you genuinely ask forgiveness for your actions, I will push all of my power into securing you in a safe, not too unpleasant location, and see that you have the best teachers the wizarding world can provide. After a period of studying and… monitoring, your penance might be lowered. If you display genuine regret and will to repent.”

Delphini lowered her eyes. Her lips thinned until they seemed to disappear.

“And this will allow me to mee-… to see father?”

“Yes.”

“Genuinely? No forgery?”

The longing in that voice. The girl might possess a genuine desire for belonging, for… for love, actually. But how twisted it was. A Gordian knot, was it?

Well, she was Hermione Granger. She could untwist a Gordian knot with her hands tied.

“No forgery at all. You have my word.”

A long pause.

“Have them show respect for my father.”

“What do you mean?”

“He is, and you know this, Minister, the greatest wizard in the world. The rightful ruler. I will not suffer a rabble mock him.”

“Many in the Wizengamot have suffered tragedies at your father's hand. His, or his followers.”

“I ask not of them to _smile_ , or hold an elegy, Minister. I ask for respect.”

Hermione took a long breath.

“You can have my word I will talk with my friends and whoever I may reach. For them to… restrain their emotional reactions in such a delicate matter.”

Still that smile.

“I hope they'll fare better than you. Minister.”

Don't raise to the bait. Don't.

How come she could munch on the lot of Rita Skeeter these days and be riled by a lost girl in chains?

“I hope so too,” she conceded. “Do we have a deal?”

“I cannot shake your hand, can I?”

“Just say you accept the deal.”

“Or would you prefer to seal it with a kiss? My offer still stands. Minister.”

“That's fascinating. Now. The deal. Do you accept it, and all it entails?”

Delphini took a long breath. How her nostrils flared. It made her look even less human.

“I accept the deal, miss Granger.”

 _Miss_ Granger. As if they might ever be equals. Still trying to undermine her. Ever the feisty little kid.

“Then I will wait for you on your trial. I advise you get plenty of rest.”

“Likewise.”

Hermione turned to leave.

Maybe _one_ thing was going to be alright. Maybe, just maybe, Rose and Hugo wouldn’t have to face the same horrors she did. Just maybe.

“I admired you the most.”

Hermione froze. She turned her head over her shoulder.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Well, more like I loathed you the least. I read a lot about you, _Hermione Granger_.” She rolled her name on her tongue like it was a stick, oozing poison and honey alike. “What an ambition. What a drive. Youngest Minister for Magic in history. Most gifted student in history. You did all you could to secure your position, and here... you... are.” Delphini's gaze run across her, and Hermione shivered. She felt naked _._

Quick, a retort.

“I do not consider myself the most gifted. Albus Dumbledore was, and he himself considered Tom Riddle superior to him. It's not our talents that define us Miss Delphini. It's what we make of them.”

Delphini took a step back and sat on the floor, her gaze never leaving her.

“Another time, then.”

Another time for what?

But she just nodded, and went past the corner.

Robert moved his wand, and lifted the Muffling Spell. Thank goodness for that.

“How did it go?” He gave her back her wand. Thank goodness she had the sense to leave it to him. She wouldn't have like to have the girl screaming and pleading beneath her feet.

Would she?

“A breach,” she answered, blinking to dispel twisted images, “I think she feels true regret over her actions.”

“Much good regret will do to the parents.”

“Sometimes is all we can use to build a ladder out of a very dark place.”

He chuckled.

“Did anyone ever told you how much you sound like Dumbledore, Minister?”

“Has been happening with alarming frequency.”

“I hope you do not stay up all night memorizing his chocolate frogs quotes.”

“Wish I had the time.”

She then stepped into the elevator and left. Up and up, leaving the twisted girl behind. She already thought she possessed innate charisma, but getting under her skin so easily, for so long? She shivered in the warm air of the elevator.

No, no. Putting _that_ into Azkaban? Not on her watch.

And as Hermione Granger let the elevator lift her away from Delphini, she thought she had made her first step on a long and difficult road. And that she did. But she never would have imagined what would be waiting for her down that road.


End file.
